


What's Most Important

by bexorz



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexorz/pseuds/bexorz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warrior Correm Hawke doesn't seem to take things seriously. He's irreverent, and his attempts to be charming, at times, make him come across as an oaf. When he falls in love with Anders, it is the last thing he expected. This story is about his life in Kirkwall. Rated Mature for later chapters. (This has been unedited for some time but with DAI out now I've got lots of feels and intend to start working on it again.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Shall We Do Now?

Correm Hawke pulled off his dirty leather helmet and ran his hand back over his sandy blonde hair. Sweat had plastered his hair down on his head, and the exposed skin around his neck likewise sported a sheen of perspiration. It was also that shade of pink that hinted at a burgeoning case of sunburn. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a big _aah_. With a grin, he tossed the helmet aside and threw his arms wide, enfolding the girl next to him in a hug. She gasped, her eyes going wide with surprise.

“Bethany, dear sister, you did marvelously!” the warrior said. “I could not have done better if I had tried!”

“That's because you're not a mage, Brother,” she gasped out. She could hardly breathe with how tightly he was squeezing her.

The event that had just ended had overwhelmed her, and she was still trying to process it all. This was the sort of thing that they had hired on with Athenril, the elven smuggler, to avoid. They'd had to sell themselves into indentured servitude to afford the bribes to enter the city of Kirkwall, and their only other option besides Athenril had been with a sleazy mercenary. He leered at her when he first saw her, enough to make her terribly uncomfortable. The moment they had talked to him, her brother had decided that she would be more comfortable smuggling.

The memory of Meeran's eyes roaming over her still made her shudder.

Releasing her, Correm nodded seriously. “Too true. I suppose you are right. Pity, that. I love your little ice trick.” He poked at her nose affectionately, still smiling.

Athenril did not look amused. She shook her head as she looked around the beach and surveyed the damage that had been done. There were a half dozen burnt corpses lying amongst a number of wooden crates, some of which were busted open. “This is too messy. This should not have happened. We must have a mole; someone _had_ to have tipped them off.”

“Well it weren't me!” said a man nearby. He was a portly, balding fellow, and his arms full of broken pieces of what looked like Orlesian pottery. He was sweating even worse than the blonde warrior was, even though he was not wearing armor. The extra pounds he was carrying around were obviously not doing him any favors.

With a long-suffering sigh, Athenril shook her head, “I know. You're too _pathetic_ to pull off something so conniving, Lorus.”

Correm was approaching the corpses on the ground. He bent down by one, and grabbed a chain from around the neck. “Huh.” He tossed it aside, and yanked a dagger in its sheath from the dead man's belt. Pulling off one of his light gauntlets, he flicked his thumb across the flat edge of the blade. He grinned. “I like the pommel on this one. And it's nice and sharp, too. I've been needing a shave.” He turned to Bethany. “Do you think I need a shave?”

Bethany rubbed a thumb up and down along her staff. “I... don't know. If you want.” He was looking very scruffy today, but at this point they had been away from the city for over a week. It was never his habit to care much about shaving if he was away from home for too long.

Correm shrugged and stuffed the pilfered dagger down the front of his thick vest. “Oh well. Maybe I'll wait another week.”

“You don't look good with a beard,” she offered. With his light blonde hair, it made his skin look pasty. He did not tan easily. He sunburned, and it looked like he was going to be sunburning again after this. Not to mention that, with a slightly darker patch to the left side of his mouth, his stubble looked a little odd as it was.

“You wound me, Bethany!” Correm said, clutching a hand over his heart, and giving her his best “betrayed expression”. It was not very convincing, especially with the dark tattoos around his eyes. He came off as looking more like a petulant child. “You don't think I'm handsome when I've been away from civilization for two weeks? I have a grungy charm!”

“No you don't,” Athenril interjected with a smirk. “You could _really_ do with a bath, Hawke. You reek.” She pinched her nose and waved a hand at the air. This made Bethany chuckle, and she covered her mouth with one hand to hide it as her brother jerked his gaze in her direction.

The warrior shook his head, and moved on to the next body to strip it of whatever leftover goodies he could find. “You are a harsh taskmaster, milady elf,” he said. “I work my fingers to the bone for you, and you don't give me the time to even comb my hair properly in the morning. Now you say I'm a disgusting, smelly slob.”

“You sat around and did nothing yesterday, Brother, waiting for this shipment,” Bethany reminded him. “If I recall, you spent an hour drawing crude pictures in the sand. As for your hair, you were rubbing sand into it and you spent the hour after _that_ picking it out, so you can't care _that_ much about it.”

“Not to interrupt this _thrilling_ conversation, but I could use some help here,” Lorus complained in his nasally voice. He kicked the small pile of broken pottery he had collected off a short drop. It clattered and splattered into the water below, breaking into smaller pieces along the way.

Correm stood up and stretched, slinging his longsword over his shoulder in a cavalier fashion. “Sorry, chum, I'm just the hired muscle. My job is to defend this fine elven lady's investments.”

The man sneered. “Well you didn't do much of a good job today.”

“If you would, Hawke,” Athenril said. “I don't know when the others will be returning.” She walked around to the other side of the crates and looked off down the coast. “It would be helpful.”

Bethany remembered Athenril's two elven henchmen wandering off down that way after a Coterie thug had escaped them. She hoped they were all right. They weren't at all bad fellows. One of them, actually, she fancied a bit, though she would never _ever_ tell her brother that. The poor elf would have such a hard time of it.

Athenril was shooting Lorus a sharp look. “And, for the record, this isn't his fault,” she said, referring to Correm. Bethany was relieved to hear her say that.

“But look at these ruined goods!” the man protested, gesturing at the wreckage on the beach. “What am I going to tell the buyer? I'm only the middle man here, but I'm the one who's going to have to make the excuses and grease the right palms in apology!”

Athenril rubbed her chin, and chewed at her lip. “Nature of the business, Lorus. I should hope that even an idiot like you would be able to recognize this.”

The fat man's face was already red from the heat, but somehow it reddened even further in response to Athenril's insult. He glared at her and turned to begin to stalk in her direction with murder in his eyes. Bethany thought he really _was_ an idiot for threatening the smuggler like that. The woman had her daggers out before he could even take three steps, but rather than having to defend herself, there was suddenly a solid wall of Hawke interposed between them.

Correm put his sword point first in the ground and leaned on the pommel with both hands. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, while a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “She's got hired muscle, remember?” he said, and he pointed a finger at his own face. He grinned. “Does this look like the face of a man who would let you lay a hand on his employer?”

“I'm charmed, Hawke, but I can take care of myself,” Athenril said, though her tone held more of a touch of self-satisfaction and pride than annoyance. She'd picked well when she'd hired them. She stepped up next to Correm to face the fat man. “I don't need you defending me.”

With a shrug, the warrior leaned back and pulled his sword free. “Suit yourself, milady.” He bowed with a flourish, holding his large sword off to the side. “I am here but for your pleasure.”

The elf smirked. “Save it, Hawke. I'm not buying it.”

“All these women, wounding me,” Correm muttered to himself. He picked up the sack into which he had been placing the items that he had scavenged, and walked over to join Bethany while Athenril and Lorus began arguing.

Bethany had perched herself on a large rock nearby, and had been watching the goings-on. However, she could not help that her gaze wandered occasionally to the dead bodies on the ground. It had all been in self defense, and in preserving their interests—which for the moment were primarily focused on finishing up their year in Athenril's employ—but she did not like how this sort of thing was becoming more and more a part of her life.

At home, their father Malcolm had taught her everything she would need to know to defend herself. The world was a big place, and she would inevitably have to fight to keep her freedom now and again. Not to mention that her brothers would not necessarily be there to protect her. And now it was just Correm. Those skills she had learned had come in very useful in the last year, and even before that when they were escaping the Blight.

It had been a necessary evil, but Bethany had _never_ thought that she'd ever end up doing criminal's work. It could have been worse with Meeran, yes, but that only made it a little more palatable.

 _I should listen to myself_ , she thought. _Maker, I'm whining, aren't I? Better stop it now, that's a bad habit, even if it's only in my head._

After plopping the sack onto the ground, he sat next to her on the rock and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Really, you did wonderfully. My little sister, all grown up and killing things!”

Wincing at his words, Bethany sucked her lips and looked away. “Do you really have to put it like that?” The feeling of his grungy leather armor rubbing against her shoulders made her squirm.

Correm pulled his arm back and pursed his lips. The expression on his face was one of intense thought. It would have been comical to her had she not been in the mood that she was. He shook his head. “How about, 'All grown up and blasting the bad men to burned bits.'?”

She shuddered. “Oh, that's even worse!” She glanced down at the corpses one more time, since they _were_ , indeed, burned to bits. With the ice melting, the smell of charred flesh was slowly growing stronger. Or perhaps she was imagining it. Either way, it was not pleasant. She wrinkled her nose and shuddered again. “So much worse.”

The warrior shrugged. “Can't say I didn't try! You know what an idiot I am. Were you expecting anything else?”

“You're not an idiot,” she frowned. He acted like one sometimes, and he made self-depreciating comments like that occasionally, but she didn't think that he was always joking about it.

He pulled off his gloves and ruffled his fingers through her hair with his usual grin plastered across his face.

Athenril's other guards came back. They had tracked the man who had gotten away from them, but the trail had ended at the edge of the water, and they'd seen no other sign of where he could have gone. Athenril was not happy about this, and Lorus complained some more, but there wasn't anything that anyone could do about it.

Eventually, everyone had to assist in the cleanup of the cargo. They had it somewhat organized by the time some of their other associates arrived with a small ship to take it all off to its final destination. Correm, of course, made his protests very clear, and threatened all sorts of retribution for the indignity of having to haul things when he'd rather cut up enemies. The only person who got upset with his blustering was Lorus. Everyone else knew to expect it, and they didn't pay him much attention after his first complaint.

Bethany did not like the way that Lorus glared at her brother, nor the looks that he sent _her_ way either, which were of a decidedly different nature. Athenril's elves were much more respectful than this greasy man, and she hoped that they never had to work with him again. Since their time with Athenril was almost up, that seemed, fortunately, quite likely.

It was getting to be evening by the time they were able to leave and make their way back to Kirkwall and their Lowtown shack. Bethany and Correm parted ways with Athenril and her boys at the docks, and then they purchased meat pies at a stall along the wharf for a late supper. Correm ate twice as many as she did, but they both definitely had a healthy appetite for it after the events of the day.

“Brother?” Bethany asked as they were nearing their uncle Gamlen's place.

“Mm?” He raised his eyebrows at her. There was half a meat pie still in his mouth.

“This is not the life I want to live.”

Correm stared at her, a crease forming between his brows as he chewed. He swallowed, and his lips and cheeks bulged as he ran his tongue around inside his mouth to catch the extra bits. He swallowed again, and shook his head. “Look on the bright side. We could have been forced to work for that mercenary fellow instead, and I'd have to protect you from grabby hands all the time. If I'll protect anything, sweet sister, it is your dignity.”

He chuckled, and pulled her close to kiss her on the cheek, holding the pie in his other hand. “Besides. We're working for fame and fortune. We'll conquer this city someday!”

“I'd rather not have the fame, thank you,” she said. “That would bring the Templars down on me for sure.”

“How about the fortune? Haven't you always wanted to have all the prettiest pretty dresses?” he asked, in-between licking grease and gravy from his fingers.

Bethany laughed softly. “I suppose I can't say that I wouldn't want enough coin to at least make sure Mother is comfortable,” she said.

“Of course,” Correm grinned. “I've always _wanted_ to buy her a proper house.”

Bethany looked up at him and smiled. “I know,” she said. Hearing that made the unsettling events of the day more bearable. She did love him so. “Still, what are we going to do when our year with Athenril is over? We only have a few days left. I won't have her to help keep the templars from finding me out.” She frowned.

“That's where the fame and fortune come in,” Correm said, brushing crumbs off his clothing. “If I've got enough sovereigns that they're spilling out my ass, I'm sure I'd be able to bribe the right people. That should be enough grease for the right palms, as our _wonderful_ uncle puts it.” He made a face. “And with that much metal coming out my ass, I think I'd need some grease myself.”

Bethany sputtered and smacked him on the arm. “That's disgusting! Ugh! I don't think I'll _ever_ get that image out of my head.” She shuddered, suddenly glad that she'd already finished all of her food. He was chuckling, completely unrepentant.

She sighed, and dropped the issue. It was the only way to keep sanity around him. “Do you really think we'd be able to bribe the right people? With everything I've been hearing, the Knight-Commander is beginning to come down harder on mages and anyone who helps them. I don't want to get you in trouble because of me.”

“Oh, don't worry so much.” Correm led her up the stairs to their doorway. “We'll think of something. I've already got some leads that look promising.” He opened the door and held it open for her. Inside, their mother Leandra and their uncle Gamlen were arguing about something. Correm looked at Bethany, eyes crossed and tongue sticking out. It was his way of expressing just how he felt about the scenario.

Bethany laughed softly and followed him inside. Their uncle was not exactly a nice man. He was rude, stingy, confrontational, had _filthy_ habits, and was generally an unpleasant person. An unflattering facial expression was the least of what he deserved. Though, she did try to at least _sometimes_ give him the benefit of the doubt.

“We'll talk more tomorrow,” Correm said to her quietly after they entered. He bolted the door shut behind her.

“All right,” she nodded.

Correm turned to their uncle, holding out his arms. “Gamlen!” he cried. “My favorite uncle! I see that you're lavishing my mother with your affection again. Now, tell me honestly, here. Just _how_ do you do that thing where you're a complete bloody _idiot_?”


	2. A New Partner

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Bethany asked Correm as they made their way through Hightown.

Her brother scratched at the back of his neck at some badly peeling sunburn. “We are so marvelous, dear sister, how could anyone _possibly_ refuse us?”

Being in Hightown was very uncomfortable for her. She felt as if the templars could come swooping down on her at any moment. They were also very out of place around all the more wealthy denizens of Kirkwall, and they received many unwelcome comments. These were mostly regarding their clothes. They were called “dirty dog-lords” more than once, warned against stealing wares from one of the merchants they passed, and referred to as refugee scum a couple of times. The fact that they had brought Correm's mabari Bostrix with them did not help stem the flow of derogatory nicknames.

Passing a doorway, Bethany stiffened when she heard a man within make a disconcertingly lewd comment about her. It was suggested, though not as politely, that she should leave behind her current company to take up with a “real man”. This was happening in _Hightown_? Well, that would serve them for wandering too close to the brothel.

Correm stopped. Bethany was suddenly concerned that he might do something rash to defend her “dignity”, as he always put it. While she loved his protective side, she didn't want to cause a scene. Not here, and not now. These things happened, and it would be impossible for him to defend her from every uncouth comment that she would ever receive. Some men were simply crude by nature, and anything with a pair of breasts would draw their attention. It wasn't worth drawing the wrath of the guard down on them.

“Bostrix, how would you like to go gnaw someone's face off?” Correm grinned down at the dog, who tilted his head and wagged his tail with a loud bark.

Bethany grabbed at his elbow. “No, please, don't,” she pleaded. “It's all right. Let's just go.” She hoped that he would listen to her. To help him do so, she tugged on his arm to try and distract him and redirect him back to the reason they were in Hightown in the first place.

With a loud sigh, Correm rolled his eyes. “All right, if the lady insists.” He looked over to the doorway and lifted a fist in the air, shaking it menacingly. “I'll get you next time!” The mabari growled as well.

Bethany was glad that they were far enough away now that his comment would not be heard. “Maker, I'm surprised you get anywhere without getting into a fist fight.” She reached out a hand to scratch at the dog's ears as he padded over to walk next to her with a big doggie grin.

Correm sighed again, and pulled a knife out of his pocket to pick at his fingernails. “Ah, fisticuffs. I haven't been in a good old fist fight in _forever_.”

Bethany scoffed and shook her head. “You got into one at the Hanged Man just last week.”

“Oh, sweet Andraste, it's been _that long?_ ” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “No wonder. I'd better go find someone to insult!”

“Would you at _least_ save it until after we get enrolled in this expedition?” she asked, stepping closer to him. After that encounter, however minimal it was, she felt some anxiety. Bad timing, she supposed.

Correm sucked in air through his teeth. “Hmm, that's a tall order.” He grinned at her. “Get it? Tall order? We're going to go see about a job with some dwarves?”

“Brother, you really amaze me sometimes.”

“My mission, then, is complete!” He laughed, and slipped his knife back into its belt sheath. “Onward to glory!” Marching forward, he led them into the large square in front of the Dwarven Merchants' Guild. They were supposed to meet a fellow named Bartrand there.

Or, rather, they'd be able to _find_ him there. He wasn't exactly expecting them.

“Excuse me, miss?” Bethany heard a pleasant voice speak next to her.

Turning, she saw two dwarves standing there next to the side of a nearby building. One was a younger man, who seemed to be especially interested in his nose. He had sandy hair, and did not appear to be very attuned to his surroundings.

The other, the one who had spoken to her, was a grandfatherly sort of dwarf. He had reddish hair and beard, though going a bit gray at the temples, and he had a very warm twinkle in his eyes. There was nothing threatening or lewd about this man at all, which was actually quite a relief for her. Kirkwall seemed to be full of people who wanted to rob, kill, or grope.

Bostrix barked, and bounded over towards the dwarf. He started sniffing at a sack that stood on the ground behind him while the man exclaimed in surprise.

“Doggie!” the younger dwarf cried.

“ _Bostrix!_ ” Correm bellowed. The dog came back over and whined a little, tucking in his tail and looking up at his master with a pathetic expression.

Bethany curtsied a little to the dwarf. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“Oh, it's no problem!” The smile that he gave her was so charming and _genuine_ , she couldn't help but smile back. “I've spent time around mabari before. This fellow doesn't bother me.”

“That's good,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Bodhan Feddic, young miss,” he said. “At your service. This is my son Sandal. And he seems to be getting along with your mabari!”

It was true. Sandal and Bostrix seemed to be getting along _quite_ well. They were making wuffling and woofing and barking noises back and forth, and both of them were equally excited about each other. Bethany could honestly say that she hadn't seen the dog that excited about a stranger _ever_.

“I think he's made a new friend.” Bodhan's eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, and Bethany could tell that he smiled often. It was nice to see someone in this place who seemed to be a genuinely pleasant person. So many who lived here were either quite dour or—if she was being frank—on the trashy side. Or criminals, of course. That happened too.

She nodded to him. “Well, good morning to you, serah. I don't think I need anything, thank you.” The last thing they needed to do was spend their morning dawdling around when they had important business to take care of.

“What's this?” Correm put his fists on his hips. Bethany could see the quick assessment he made of the two dwarves. He grinned. “What are you selling?”

“Only the finest wares!” Bodhan said. “Is this lovely young lady your wife?”

Correm burst out laughing. He clapped Bodhan on the shoulder. “No, dwarf, this is my _sister_. But I'm sure she's flattered.”

Bethany was blushing. “Brother!”

“Well, aren't you?”

“ _No_ , but that's not the point,” she retorted. “This isn't what we're here for.”

“Oh, please, pardon my rudeness,” Bodhan said, wringing his hands. “I meant no offense by it, messere. I just thought she might like to purchase a nice necklace, or some earrings perhaps. I have a pair that would match her eyes _just_ splendidly. Would you like to see them?”

It was a tempting proposition. Bethany would have loved a new pair of earrings, but they didn't have enough extra coin for such things at the moment. “I'm sorry,” she said to Bodhan. “We have to get moving. We need to be somewhere.”

“Well, we're almost there.” Correm looked across the square. The entrance to the merchants' guild hall was there, and as it so happened a few of the members seemed to be milling about talking amongst themselves. It was probably a good time to find Bartrand, or at least find someone who would know exactly where he was.

When he turned back, Bethany saw determination on her brother's face. The sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her gave her a sudden suspicion, and the next words out of his mouth confirmed it.

“Let me take a look at those earrings.”

Bethany sighed. The dog nosed at her hand and she gave him a scratch.

Bodhan clapped his hands together once. “Wonderful! Oh, you will be pleased with these, I'm sure, messere.”

While he went to fetch the earrings out of his wares, the other dwarf stood there and gave Bethany a stupid grin. “Enchantment?” he asked.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don't mind Sandal, miss,” Bodhan said. “He's a bit simple in the head, but I couldn't wish for a better son. He has _quite_ the skill for enchantments, and he enjoys them more than anything, to boot.” In his hands, Bodhan held a small, simple box. He opened the lid, revealing a few pairs of earrings. They were of different colors and sizes, but he pointed to one in particular. “These here, I think would look just _beautiful_ on you.” He smiled.

Correm tugged at the strings of his coin purse at his hip. “How much?” he asked. Bodhan gave him the price. It wasn't expensive, for how nice the earrings looked, but it wasn't cheap, either. It gave Bethany a lump in her throat thinking of it. Sure, it was _his_ money, but...

“Don't you even want me to try them on?” she asked, feeling very apprehensive about her brother spending his money like that. “It just seems like a lot of coin to spend right now.”

A short argument ensued, but it didn't go anywhere. No matter how reasonable Bethany's protests were, they couldn't compare to her brother's stubbornness and his desire to do something nice for her. It was a little embarrassing for her, actually, to have such a discussion in front of Bodhan. In the end, Bethany had to relent, because Correm was just _that_ stubborn and insistent. She tried to tell herself that it _wasn't_ because, deep down, she really did want the earrings.

While she would have preferred to wait until they got home to put the earrings on, Correm demanded that she wear them right away. She decided to indulge him and let him spoil her a little bit. In the long run she'd be a lot happier for not wasting her energy fighting against his whims.

When she put the earrings on, out of the corner of her eye Bethany saw a young man lounging against a pillar across the way, watching her. She only caught his gaze for a brief moment before he turned away and looked somewhere else, but it made her uncomfortable. His staring made her nervy.

“Thank you _so_ much, messere,” Bodhan said, shaking her brother's hand. “I do appreciate your business, and I hope that I can further provide for your needs in the future. My boy and I will be going out soon on an expedition to the Deep Roads, but any time you need—”

“Oh! You're going into the Deep Roads?” Correm asked. “Would this expedition be with a certain fellow named Bartrand Tethras?”

“Why, the very one!” Bodhan raised his eyebrows. “You know of him?”

“We're hoping to join you, actually.”

Bethany shook her head. “Well, no guarantees, of course. We haven't even talked to the man yet.” She tucked away the little box that Bodhan had given her for the earrings in her small hip pouch with the rest of her things.

“In that case, best of luck to you!” Bodhan grinned at them. “You seem like a fine, capable fellow. You would be a very welcome traveling companion in that place.”  


“I certainly hope so,” Correm said.

“If you ever need anything,” the dwarf continued, “my shop will always be open to you. And if you ever have the need to enchant any of your equipment, please, _please_ do not hesitate to pay us a visit. Sandal will be happy to help.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal clapped.

Bethany couldn't help feeling charmed. She liked Bodhan, as much as she could like someone she had just met.

Bodhan suddenly pointed between them at one of the streets leading into the square. “Why, there he is! Bartrand, I mean. You should go speak to him. He's the one on the left.”

“Excellent!” Correm exclaimed. “I believe I will. Come, Bethany.”

“Thank you, messere,” Bethany said to Bodhan as her brother dragged her off. Bostrix barked and followed along

“No, thank _you_ , miss.”

Bartrand was speaking with another dwarf as they approached. They were discussing some business matter or other, and Bartrand did not seem very pleased about it. That didn't bode well for approaching him with a request, but it wasn't as if they had a choice.

Bethany didn't like the look of the man right off the bat. There was a look in his eyes that unsettled her. She had seen all sorts of folks while they were working with Athenril's group, and somehow she was more wary of him than she'd been of some of the roughest bandits and criminals they'd come across.

As they approached, Bartrand cuffed the man he was talking to across the side of the head. “Idiot! I told you to wait on that deal! Don't you know what's at stake if something goes wrong? I—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Correm said, interrupting. Both dwarves looked up at him. “You're Bartrand Tethras, correct?”

Bartrand narrowed his eyes and glared at the big warrior for a moment, then he brought his attention back to his lackey. He grabbed him by the collar and gave him a quick shake. “Now, you go fix the problem. You hear me?”

“Y-yes Bartrand!” the man stammered. When Bartrand let go of him he scampered off.

“Now. You.” The merchant dwarf crossed his arms and threw another baleful gaze in Correm's direction. “You can't go barging into other people's business. Do you know who I am?”

Correm raised his eyebrows. “Well, I'm _hoping_ you're Bartrand Tethras.”

Bartrand snorted. “Yes. Yes, I am. Now _scram_ , I'm busy.” The mabari snarled at him, his back arching and fur bristling. “And keep that filthy mutt away from me!” He started to stalk off past them back the way they came.

“Bostrix!” Bethany hissed. “Shh, we need his help.” The dog tilted his head at her and whined a little, but he backed off.

Bethany was going to leave it to her brother to try and talk this guy down. Things were already looking very bad for their chances on getting hired on to the expedition, and she never fully trusted her brother's tact, but her brother was older than she and he could hold his own better. At least, in this circumstance he could.

“This won't take long, I promise,” Correm said. “We're looking for work, and we heard a rumor that you're taking an expedition into the Deep Roads to find lost treasures and become immeasurably wealthy.”  


“What?” Bartrand barked. “Who are you?”

“Hawke, Correm, at your service.” Correm gave the dwarf a casual salute with a slight smirk. “And this is my sister Bethany.”

Bartrand grunted and rolled his eyes. He waved a hand in the air and started walking away. “You're too late. We're all full up. I don't need any more grunts. _Or_ their sisters.”

“I've got references,” Correm protested as they moved to follow. “Well, I have _one_ reference. Do you know Athenril? We've been working for her for a year, and--”

Bartrand shook his head. “Look, I've already told you that I don't _need_ any more help. There are plenty of desperate refugees looking for a quick trip out of Lowtown, and it's not my business to help out every damn sob story out there.”

“But we've fought darkspawn before,” Bethany said, deciding to add to the conversation a little bit at least. “Won't you need people down there who've done that?”

“I served in the army at Ostagar,” Correm added. “Don't you _want_ people with experience?”

“I've got all the experience I need! Besides, this expedition is too important to risk on hiring random humans.” Bartrand was very irritated now. He stopped and whirled to face them. “There's no work for you here, got it? Go find somewhere else to beg.”

Then he was gone, leaving the two siblings standing there in the square with their mabari. It seemed to Bethany that they must look like idiots and fools. She certainly _felt_ like that, anyway. She also started to feel a little frantic. That couldn't have gone very much worse than it had, unless he had suddenly attacked them. Which would have been unlikely here in Hightown, but not completely outside the realm of possibility. It _was_ Kirkwall, after all. The only concern now was what they were going to do.

Bostrix paced around them in a circle, growled in the direction Bartrand had left, and then padded over to a nearby wall to piss on it.

“Well.” Correm rubbed at his cheek. “We can always go ask Gamlen if he knows of something else.” He watched the dog absently.

“Something else!” Bethany exclaimed. “Brother, this was our last chance. Without any kind of status, or money, we're just refugees. We're _nobodies_. There's nothing for us to stand behind the next time someone wants to sell us out.”

Correm punched her lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, don't worry. You know big brother's going to keep those templars off you.”

“I'm serious,” she frowned. “It's all well and good for _you_ to joke about this. You're not the one at risk for being locked away for the rest of your life.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “If they don't just kill me right off.” Bostrix whimpered and nuzzled at her leg comfortingly. She allowed his furry warmth to soothe her nerves a little.

It _would_ just be their luck to escape the Blight, make it all the way from Gwaren on that accursed ship to Kirkwall, work for criminals for a year to earn the money for bribing their way into the city, and the moment they're free to mind their own business, she'd get caught by templars. Maker knew she didn't want it to be like this. She'd never wanted to be a burden to anyone. Before their father Malcolm had died, the whole family had not been on the move only for her sake. The last four years, however, it had been just her. All of it was for _her_ now.

“Nonsense,” Correm waved that idea aside. “You're far too pretty for that. I'd--”

“ _Correm!_ ”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Bethany sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. “Maybe Gamlen knows someone who could talk to Bartrand for us, and convince him to change his mind.”

Correm shrugged. “He's all but useless, that one.”

“It can't hurt. Let's get going, in either case.”

Bostrix barked. Bethany couldn't agree more. She wanted to get out of there. The encounter with Bartrand had left a sour taste in her mouth. Speaking with their uncle wasn't something she was looking forward to, but she'd at least like to go home and get something to eat.

While they were leaving the square, the two siblings spoke to each other about what they would say to Gamlen. Neither of them noticed the young man approach until he had already blustered past, bumping against Correm on his way. Bethany realized it was the same young man who had been staring at her earlier.

“Watch—” Correm started to say. He patted at his hip. Bethany saw his eyes grow wide and his face redden. “Hey!”

The boy was dashing off down the street. Correm shouted for Bostrix to go after him, but before the dog could catch up, there was a loud _click_ and a _whump_ and suddenly the thief was pinned to the wall by a large shaft piercing his tunic. He cried out and squirmed, tugging at it uselessly while the dog stopped and snarled at him.

From the side, a dwarf stepped out. He was wielding a large, very unusual and powerful-looking crossbow. Pulling a lever, the multiple arms of the weapon clanked back into place. He slung it back over his shoulder and approached the man pinned to the wall.

“You know, I once knew a man who could pick every last coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you.” The dwarf smirked at his victim, and shook his head. “But you? You don't have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchant's Guild. You might want to find a new line of work.” He cocked back a fist, and slugged the thug square in the jaw. When he yanked the crossbow bolt free from the wall, the young man fell, struggled to his feet, and then ran off with a yelp as the dog chased him.

The dwarf turned to the siblings, twirling the bolt stylishly in his fingers before putting it back with the others. He gave them a dashing grin.

“How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service!”


	3. Foot-In-Mouth Disease

Bethany was worried. Nothing she had ever done in her life yet could compare to what had just transpired. She, her brother, Aveline, and their new friend Varric had just been in the Kirkwall chantry, killing Templars. They had been fighting for a good cause, but that still did not change the fact that there were Templars dead behind them. Templars were people to avoid, not to kill. If anything could put her at risk for discovery, it was certainly that.

There was also the matter of the healer, Anders. Something very strange had happened to him.

“I don't like this, Brother,” Bethany said as they retreated from the chantry. Every statue they passed in the courtyard seemed to be watching them, seemed to be accusing them of horrible things. Horrible things that they had, in fact, done.

The young mage shivered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “In the Chantry, of all places. It's not like killing darkspawn. It's not even like that smuggling work. Those were Templars we were fighting.”

Correm, his light blond hair sticking out oddly under the edge of his helmet above his eyes, turned to look at his sister. She was lagging behind a little bit, panting as she tried to speak and jog at the same time. Immediately, he slowed to match her pace, for which she was grateful. Their companions, Aveline and Varric, likewise slowed.

Maker, she thought. He looks a bit scary right now with those ridiculous tattoos around his eyes in this darkness and that blood on his cheeks.

“I know, Bethany,” Correm said, pulling off his helmet and rubbing at his hair vigorously. “But think of it this way: We've just risked life and limb—and your freedom to boot—so that we can have the maps to go on a much more perilous and life-threatening treasure hunt into the darkspawn-infested Deep Roads, into caverns that no person has entered in Andraste knows how long.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a big smile as he tucked the helmet under his arm.

At the blanched look on Bethany's face, Aveline shook her head and slapped Correm across the back of his head. “Really, Hawke!” she chided. “I don't understand how you can be so flippant about this. We've just risked a great deal—”

“That's what I just said,” Correm interjected.

“—and we're going to be risking more, later,” Aveline continued without stopping. “Don't you understand how much trouble you will have gotten us into if we're caught?”

Varric said, “Oh, lighten up. We can talk ourselves out of anything. Bianca's not worried.” He patted his crossbow, his gloved hand making a soft slap against the polished wood.

“The threat of torture and imprisonment makes life that much more exciting, Aveline!” the warrior replied, spreading his hands. He dropped his helmet, and had to stoop to pick it up again.

“We had better get back home,” Bethany said quietly, interrupting. “Mother will be worried.” She didn't bother to argue with her brother's foolishness. He'd always done everything he could to protect her, and the Deep Roads expedition was very important for their family's survival. She only wished that they'd had a better way. Although, she had wanted to help Anders's friend. It wasn't her brother's fault that things had gone so horribly wrong. He was just making the aftermath seem less serious. Well, that was how she preferred to look at his attitude, anyway.

Despite the danger, Bethany could not honestly regret what they had been trying to do. She would have done anything to prevent the devastated look on Anders's face. No one should have to feel that pain, or especially go through what Karl had had to go through. The brand on Karl's forehead was such a clear warning, a threat, even a promise. Show the slightest hint of disagreement, the smallest bit of evidence that you were going to be taking some action against the Templars, and they cut you off from everything that made you a whole person.

From what she had been taught, being cut off from the Fade meant that a mage would also not be able to make it beyond to the final resting place when death came. That thought was so terrifying, she didn't have a sufficient way to articulate her feelings about it. No one had the right to commit such an atrocity against another person. They were not all-holy representatives of the Maker that they had the right to condemn a person's soul!

When Karl had turned to them with that glassy stare, and spoken to Anders in that flat voice, Bethany had seen Anders's expression, yes, but she had also caught a brief look on her brother's face that had stabbed at her. Interpreting that look had been very difficult, and she had not properly gotten a grasp on it. She thought that she had seen concern there, fear even—for her perhaps—but there had been something else as well. In any case, it was something that had unsettled her a little; she hadn't liked seeing it.

“You are absolutely right,” he said now, draping an arm across her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “We'll get you back in time for bed, and then I'll go on to the Hanged Man with Varric here and get right proper pissed. We're walking away from a massacre at the Chantry and didn't get caught; we have reason to celebrate!”

Bethany frowned and sighed at that, but she didn't make a comment, nor did she try to shrug off his heavy arm. She certainly didn't feel like celebrating.

“That's the best idea I've heard all night,” Varric said with a grin. “Cheer up, Sunshine. I won't let him overdo it again.”

“Well, all right,” Bethany said. “But Mother said that she wants him cleaned up before he comes staggering home the next time he gets drunk.”

“Wonderful!” Correm grinned and released his sister. “You think a swim in the harbor would do it?”

“Brr-rr!” Varric shuddered in distaste. “Not only would that be freezing, but you may as well bathe in water from the privy. How about we just dunk you in the communal tub a few times?”

“Sounds good to me,” Correm nodded, winking at Bethany. “How about you, Aveline? Fancy a draught?”

“As much as I'd love to see you make a moron out of yourself,” she said, “we have exercises in the morning. I have to get back to the barracks.” Then she muttered, “Besides, shouldn't you go chase down that Anders fellow and get the maps?”

“That's true,” Varric said.

The blond warrior shrugged. “I know where to find him. I'll browbeat him later if necessary.”

Bethany fidgeted. “Would you really? He just lost a friend. Please don't treat him unkindly.” She hoped that he would show his tactful side in this. Though, if he was going to go get drunk—which was a decision she knew she'd not be able to talk him out of—she suspected that her hopes would be in vain.

“Psh,” he waved a hand dismissively. He did not say any more about it. That was reassuring, at least. Not everyone was adept at interpreting her brother's responses, but the fact that he hadn't made another joke about it showed her that he wouldn't do such a thing.

Aveline adjusted her armor and hitched up her late husband's shield to hang it from her back and out of the way. “I'm leaving,” she stated. “I suppose I can spread false reports of 'miscreants' to blame this on.” She gave Correm a stern look, as if he had orchestrated the whole thing simply to make life more difficult for her.

“But we are miscreants,” Correm noted. Bethany found that she could hardly disagree with him on that point. At least as far as current circumstances went.

“Speak for yourself,” the red-headed guardswoman glowered at him. Then she sighed. “All the same. We can't have them knowing the truth.”

“Good old Aveline!” Correm said. “I can always count on you, can't I.” He didn't make it into a question.

Aveline snorted and smirked at him. “We'll see about that. Good night, Hawke, Bethany, Varric.” She gave a nod to each of them in turn, and then separated from them as they continued on their way past the keep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the morning, Bethany was having a hard time rousing her brother from the near comatose state he was in. He had the covers pulled up to his chin, and she was grasping at his shoulder and shaking him. “Brother? Brother, wake up. We should go,” she said. Maybe she wasn't shaking him hard enough. “Correm!” she shouted, flustered at the failure of her more gentle efforts.

“Hrng?” Correm let out a few groans and grunts, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Bethany saw him wince, and he shrank back from her a little. “Why are y' wankin-fgh,” he slurred.

“Wake up,” Bethany insisted. “We need to visit the healer and secure the maps. Varric said he'd meet us at the entrance to the Undercity.”

“Ungh,” Correm groaned again. She wondered how long it would take before he could come up with anything more intelligible than guttural syllables. “What har is't?” He asked. “This 'we' stuff? What... we?”

“You promised you would take me with you.”

“I dun rem'ber that,” he said, pressing the heel of his hand to the side of his head.

Bethany sighed, and put a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. She leaned down to look at him. “But, you said—”

Correm winced, and nodded a little. “I believe you,” he said. His voice was very gruff. As he made to sit up finally, the blanket slid off, giving Bethany more of a view than she was expecting.

“Maker, put some pants on!” she exclaimed, turning away quickly, cheeks burning, and covered her eyes to avoid the sight she had just been subjected to. “Where are your pants? You're not wearing any pants!”

“Uh. I dunno,” he said, looking around the room. “That would explain the draft, then.”

“You're impossible!” Bethany sighed. She'd have to find some pants for him, then. It didn't sound like he was in possession of the cognizance to solve this dilemma on his own right then. She stepped over to his small chest and went digging for a pair.

“Huh,” he said behind her.

“What is it?” she asked, lifting up an article of clothing. She thought it might, at one point, have been pants, but it wasn't going to serve that purpose now. Into the corner she tossed it, to be re-purposed later.

“You won't believe what someone wrote here! 'Slippery and—' ”

“Written where?” Bethany cut him off. She had finally found a pair of relatively clean pants.

“Right here on the inside of my hip, next to my—”

“By Andraste, I don't want to know!” She threw the pants at him, hitting him in the face. “Honestly! Please just get dressed, and have something to eat so we can get those maps. I made eggs and meat rolls.”

“All right, all right,” he agreed reluctantly.

After he had gotten properly dressed, Correm wasn't very interested in breakfast. Bethany tried to get him to eat at least a little, so that he wouldn't faint from hunger along the way. He whined and grumbled, but finally he ate an egg with some toast. She was thankful when they got out the door.

Before they entered the clinic in Darktown, Bethany stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait,” she said. When he did, she put her palms on either side of his face. She sent healing energy into him, soothing the pain of his hangover headache. An immediate sigh of relief was the response she got.

The whole way from their uncle's house, he had been whining about his throbbing head. No doubt it had been in an effort to get her to do exactly what she had just done, without having to ask for it. Perhaps he was trying to make her feel guilty about interrupting his beauty sleep.

“There,” she said, pulling her hands back. It would be easier if he wouldn't go and do that sort of thing to himself, but sometimes she was willing to help him deal with it. Even though she knew she was just enabling the behavior.

Correm kissed her on the cheek in thanks. From what Varric had said, and from the fact that Bethany had made note of the outrageous hour at which Correm had returned home, he had been at it most of the night. She could see in her brother's eyes that he was still a little tipsy. She hoped that he did not spoil things this morning.

“Incredible, Hawke,” the dwarf said. “You really can't handle your ale as well as I would have credited you for.”

“Nonsense,” Correm protested, rubbing at his face. “Someone must have spiked my drinks with something stronger than ale. Probably that whiskey swill they try to pass off as real spirits in that place. Or that red stuff. I think they use the red stuff for rat poison, actually.”

“I bet it was that Nivea chick. She certainly took full advantage of your drunkenness.”

The warrior raised his eyebrows. “Oh, was that the brunette? She must have been the one who wrote on my—”

“For the Maker's sake, we're here for a reason,” Bethany pleaded. “I don't want to hear this. Could we please get the maps?” Sometimes she wondered why she even put up with him like this.

“Pushy, pushy. Always on about those maps.” Correm looked at her for a few moments, sucking his lips. Then he leaned toward Varric and held up his hand as if to speak in confidence, but he spoke in a conspicuously loud whisper instead. “She drew little hearts, too.”

Varric laughed and pounded him on the back, while Bethany flushed and did her best to avoid wasting her breath on fruitless protests. All the same, she knew that this was why she had had to come along, or her brother would never have gotten around to this. Not today, anyway. He would have spent half the day sleeping off the night before, and would have forgotten all about the maps until someone reminded him.

Even though it was important. Maker.

Before they crossed the threshold into the clinic itself, Correm blinked and turned to Varric. “How come I have to do this?”

“You know I'm more of a follower and an observer, Hawke. It's much easier to tell the story that way.” Varric winked at Bethany.

Correm blinked again, apparently still bemused by the situation despite Varric's explanation. Bethany hoped again, despite herself, that he wouldn't make a fool of himself. She was having second thoughts about waking him before he'd properly recovered. It was too late now, though. No use fretting over it.

Neither Bethany nor Varric was inclined to bring up the subject of Anders's strange, angry manifestation the night before. The fact was, if that happened again, Correm would be better equipped to handle it than anyone else they knew. That was because of the Templar tricks that their father had insisted that he learn over the years.

Correm hadn't wanted to at first. He had made a big deal of it, actually. He made it quite plain that he felt like it wasn't fair to Bethany, and that it was a betrayal of sorts of both her and their father. Malcolm, however, had seen the practicality of his eldest learning how to dampen magic abilities in the interest of preserving the family's freedoms.

At the age of fourteen, Correm's speech regarding the subject and his objection to learning such skills had been so impassioned, that sometimes when Bethany looked at him she could still picture the look on his face and it made her smile. What also made her smile was the memory of their father knocking Correm's feet out from under him by moving the very stones he'd been standing on, and lifting him up with magic to suspend him upside-down in mid air.

“Wouldn't it be nice to know some of those mana draining skills now, hmm?” their father had asked, chuckling as his eldest flailed around and yelled to be put down. “However noble you think you are, don't give excuses for your laziness, fool boy.”

Finally, her brother had relented. Being hung upside-down with the blood rushing to his head had helped him make his decision more quickly, of course. He had agreed to try. Not that he'd really ever gotten around to refining the skills their father taught, even after all that, but it was better than nothing.

Inside the clinic, the healer was sorting through a collection of small pots and jars of unguents, solutions, and powders. Several refugees, two men and a young woman, stood by talking to him. As the trio approached, he handed the older looking man a jar.

“Make a tea of this,” he said. “Use just enough to color the water pink. Give it to her every morning and night, and if she gets nauseated during the day. It should make the problem better.”

“Thank you, messere,” the man said, nodding his head. The refugees left then. They had apparently all come in together.

Stopping to watch them go, Correm raised an eyebrow, then turned to the strawberry-blond mage. “Were they looking for a remedy for mum's moon time terror?”

Anders blinked at him. Then he cleared his throat while Bethany covered her face with her hand, embarrassed to be related to this man. Varric just chuckled.

“I'm sorry about my brother, Healer,” Bethany said, not wanting to offend. “He's...” she struggled for the right thing to say.

“He's drunk,” Varric supplied helpfully.

“I object!” Correm insisted.

Anders gave him a look. “I see,” he said slowly. “If you must know, that man's wife is pregnant, and is having difficulties.”

“Oh.”

Serves you right, Bethany thought to herself, seeing Correm's embarrassment.

“I... have your maps,” Anders continued, suddenly looking a bit anxious. “Thank you for your assistance last night,” he continued. “I had hoped that... well, never mind. It's done.”

“We understand,” said Bethany, giving him a small, supportive smile. “I'm sorry we could not get there in time to save your friend.”

“It's not your fault. I'm the one who put you in danger.” Before she could say anything more, he turned quickly and went looking through a grungy old chest behind his table.

As he did so, Bethany looked to her brother expectantly. Now was a good time for him to mention what had happened to Anders the night before. He gave her an uncertain grin and a shrug. Obviously, he didn't understand. She sighed in exasperation and pointed at Anders' back. The only response she got was one of his raised eyebrows.

“The, uh, glowing thing, Hawke,” Varric reminded him quietly. They had talked about it and it had been decided that Correm should be the one to mention it to Anders. The others, including Aveline, had decided it for him, rather.

“Oh!” he finally understood. “ Anders, about what happened. Is it just me, or did you—”

“Yes, I'm sorry,” Anders cut him off, still standing with his back turned. Bethany saw his back tighten up further. “You deserve to know.”

“I had damn well better.” Correm said bluntly, much to Bethany's shock. “That was a neat trick! Can you teach it to my sister? That could come in handy. But could she glow pink instead?”

“Brother!” she blanched, horrified that he'd say something like that.

“No, I...” Anders hesitated. “It's not what you think. It's not a 'trick'. A while back, I met a spirit who was trapped outside the Fade.”

“What, like a demon?” Correm asked. “One of those awful shade things?”

Anders shivered a little bit, and a tension appeared around his eyes. Bethany caught the look, and wondered if there might be some bit of truth in that. Yet, how could it be so? This man was a healer. And, if she recalled her father's teachings correctly, he might even be a spirit healer. Is this what he was talking about?

“Not the same,” Bethany murmured. “Don't you remember Father's lectures?”

“Don't you remember I never listened?” he countered. When Malcolm had been speaking of magical things, Correm really hadn't ever listened all that well. She should have known better.

Bethany saw that Anders seemed to be more uncomfortable with each moment, and with each word Correm spewed out of his mouth. He was always irreverent, especially with strangers, but he normally could show a little bit more tact than this.

“He was a spirit of Justice,” Anders said. He looked off to the side, and then down, a ghost of sadness and regret crossing his face. “One of the spirits which embody the virtues of man.”

“Or woman?” Correm asked.

“Er, yes. Or—or woman,” the healer frowned, his brow furrowing. “Either way, he was trapped in a rotting corpse. He wasn't a shade. I couldn't just leave him like that. And I thought that, if I became a willing host, so that he would not fall to pieces...” he trailed off.

Bethany put a hand over her mouth. “So you offered yourself? For your friend?” She had never heard of such a thing. In all those lectures of her father's, he had never made mention of anything like that. Mages would occasionally, in desperation, make pacts with demons, and they would become a horrific abomination, but Anders seemed nothing like that.

“You have a Fade creature inside you?” Correm asked. “Living in your head.”

“It's not... quite like that. But... the short version is, yes. He had seen the injustices that mages suffer every day, in every part of their lives, and we were going to work to change that, together. But it went wrong. I had too much anger inside, and he... absorbed it. It twisted him.”

The healer began to pace nervously, picking at the edges of his feathered coat. He would not meet anyone's eyes. “He manifests as Vengeance now. Uncontrollable rage at the Templars for what they do, and what they stand for. All those things that, before, I was helpless to do anything about.”

“Well, remind me to never get on your bad side, then,” Correm said with a shrug. “I don't want an abomination angry with me.”

“I'm—” Anders started, but he stopped himself and frowned. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepened, leaving him looking a lot older than he probably was.

Correm clapped him on the shoulder with exaggerated force, making the healer stagger a little. “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I'm not exactly going to walk up to the Knight-Commander and tell her I found an abomination while I was slaughtering a cadre of her Templars.”

“He really never would,” Bethany said quickly, wanting to reaffirm that point. She didn't know Anders well enough to know how he'd take her brother's attitude.

Anders made a weak attempt at smiling. “I believe you.” He was still holding those valuable maps, and hastily handed them over to the warrior. “Here,” he said. “We made a deal. You held up your end. I shall do nothing less.”

“Excellent!” Correm exclaimed, taking them from him. “Now we can get ourselves into more trouble that much more easily.” He glanced at the maps, and then stuffed them into his jerkin carelessly. Bethany hoped that he wasn't damaging the paper by doing that. They'd gone through so much trouble to get them.

“Are you... absolutely certain that you want to go down there?” Anders queried with a grimace. “It's not a pleasant place, the Deep Roads. If I had my preference, I'd never have to think about the blighted Deep Roads ever again.”

Putting his fists on his hips, Correm tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “You sound like my mother. I'm not exactly taking auditions for the part. One mother is quite enough for me.”

“Thank you, serah, for the maps,” Bethany said deliberately, tugging on her brother's arm. “We'll trouble you no further.” She thought it about time to get him out of there.

“Oh, please,” Anders said, flushing. “Just 'Anders'. I don't want to be that formal. You're going to make me feel old.”

Bethany smiled at him. There was something about him in that moment that struck her as warm and familiar. This was a man who had been through a lot in his life. Not just with his clinic here, or with his poor friend in the Gallows. He'd obviously seen many failures, but he had some of the same determination that their father had possessed. “You know, you remind me a little of our father,” she admitted to him.

“Without the beard,” Correm added. “Although it looks like you haven't shaved in a while.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Well, you're one to talk. You have your own five o'clock shadow.”

“Touché, my good fellow. He does have a sense of humor!”

“Somewhat difficult to have one in this place, I'd imagine,” Varric commented.

Bethany couldn't help but agree with him. The clinic was not as bad as the rest of Darktown, but it was grungy enough. There was filth and rubble in the corners, and stains on the floor and on the wooden cots that she did not want to think about too much. It looked as if Anders tried to keep it clean, but didn't manage to keep up with his efforts. Only half of the shelves on the back wall seemed to be organized, for starters.

Correm cleared his throat. “Well, we've got our maps. We're off, then,” he said. “We'll leave you to your, ah, work.”

The trio turned to leave. “Good day to you, healer,” Bethany said, unable to break formality completely and call him by his name. “I'm sorry again for your loss.”

Anders smiled sadly and nodded, waving at them in parting. Then his back was to them again. Bethany thought she caught the sound of a wistful sigh, but her brother was charging out the door in his normal brusque manner, and she did not want to get left behind.

That man has so much sadness inside him, she thought to herself. She wondered if there was anything that she could do for him, but at the same time she was just too shy to say anything about it. And he was a lot older than she was. Maybe she could convince her brother to go back later and apologize for acting like a lummox.

“Bethany!” Correm startled her as they climbed back up into Lowtown by calling her name suddenly.

She jumped and blinked at him. “Wh-what?” She had been thinking about Anders, and hadn't even noticed that Varric had separated from them and gone off on his own way. She wondered if he had the maps; she didn't trust her brother with them.

Correm snapped his fingers. “We need some organ meats for Bostrix! Would you cook them? Pretty please?”

“Cook? For the dog?” She made a face.

“He wants something extra special this morning, I just know it!” He sounded a whole lot more enthusiastic about cooking for his dog than he should have.

Bethany sighed. Why did she have the feeling that it was going to be a long day?


	4. Awkward Apologies

When Correm and Bethany returned to Gamlen's home in Lowtown, Correm was still on about cooking lunch for the dog. He maintained that the animal deserved it, and would be very happy to have something other than raw food to eat. When he first hit resistance from their mother Leandra, he had gone into one of his impassioned arguments advocating the idea. Unfortunately, he was still not very coherent, and even if he had heard himself say the same things later, he would have been confused.

Despite his rambling reasons, Leandra Hawke did not want any of their fuel for cooking to be spent preparing meals for the mabari. He would, she maintained, be satisfied well enough with raw food. She was gentle in her admonition, but she was also quite firm on that point. There would be no organ meats sizzling on the stove that day. She also made sure that Correm got himself back to bed, and chided him once more on his habits. She didn't approve of the time that he spent at the Hanged Man.

The warrior took it in stride. His mother giving voice to her disapproval was a common occurrence. You didn't used to stay out all night in Lothering, she'd say. While this was true, it was also true that there had not been anywhere to go at night, where a young man could appreciate being alive and virile and attractive. Nowhere as exciting as the Hanged Man, anyway, and certainly nowhere to find new girls regularly.

From the age he was sixteen, he'd been a horrible flirt. He had found girls to be quite enjoyable to have around. Although, after a point, they tended to tire of him, or get offended by some ridiculous thing he'd say that he didn't mean. Usually while he was drunk. He'd gotten his fair share of slaps in the face. That was why he had kept the local girls more at arm's length—so to speak—physically, and saved his trysts for the occasional out-of-town girl who was willing to entertain such dalliances.

After coming to Kirkwall, even though there was a much larger pool of girls to fish in, there just weren't a lot of them that he felt like spending time with. Along with that, he was a “feral dog-lord” to any of the nice ones, who were also more likely to be put off by the dark reddish-brown tattoos around his eyes. He got the most attention from those who were frequenters of the Hanged Man, especially the ones who had heard of his exploits with Athenril's smugglers. They liked his sense of humor, and they liked his tattoos.

After all was said and done, he certainly did go out and party significantly more than he had back home. He figured it was with reason. When he and Carver had joined the army to fight the Blight, he had been more wild than he'd been back home in Lothering. It was just that his mother hadn't exactly seen him between... exploits.

That reminded him that he'd have to find Nivea again sometime. She had mentioned his “smoldering eyes” in the little poem she'd composed and written on his skin. That had been quite the surprise to wake up to that morning. It had taken a while to scrub off, too. He still had dark smudges on his nethers.

“What are you smirking at?” his mother asked him, interrupting his thoughts. They were sitting at their small dining table, having stew and Bethany's meat rolls for dinner. His mind had been wandering.

Correm stopped eating, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth, and gave her a sheepish look. “Nothing you want to hear about, I'm sure,” he said. He could just imagine her reaction if he told her that some girl he'd barely met had taken a charcoal stick and written and drawn little hearts all over his penis.

“You really don't, Mother,” Bethany said. “I can almost guarantee it.”

Leandra shook her head. “How did I raise such a son? I thought I taught you better.”

He grinned. “Don't worry, Mother. You certainly tried. It's not your fault I'm a lost cause.” To emphasize his point, he put the spoon in his mouth and slurped at it loudly. The terrible table manners made her wince.

“Please don't slurp like that, dear,” Leandra said.

Correm huffed. “Well it isn't as if we're living in Hightown, is it? I'd think I could eat however I like here in this dump.”

“You could have at least acted like less of an idiot this morning,” Bethany said. “That poor man was grieving for his friend, and you just went on and on like a tactless moron. Do you realize how far into your mouth you shoved your foot? I don't even know if he'd want anything to do with us after the things you said. And he could be a big help on the expedition. Wouldn't it be safer to bring a healer along, not to mention a Grey Warden?”

Correm's mouth was open to eat a chunk of potato off his spoon, but he put it down again. “Was I that much of a boor?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Bethany sighed.

Correm licked his lips. “I should go apologize, shouldn't I.”

“I'm going to insist that you do,” Leandra said, giving him a level look. “How could you? After such a thing happened to him? Bethany told me about it while you were sleeping.”

“Ehhh...” Correm looked sheepish again. “I took another couple of swigs from Gamlen's private stash before we left the house this morning...”

“What!” Bethany dropped her spoon in shock.

“Sorry.”

“Right now, if you please. Go apologize.” Leandra frowned at him. “I know you don't take many things seriously, but you should have more sense.”

With a sigh, he stood up, the chair scraping against the floor as he did so. “All right. You two terrify me too much to defy such a demand.”

Not bothering to push his chair in or even put his bowl away, Correm fled the scene before the two of them could really start to gang up on him. He'd seen the look on Bethany's face, and he'd known that they were about to do just that. There wasn't much he could do in that kind of situation, either. They would throw guilt trips at him until he begged and pleaded for them to stop, and he would offer to do whatever they wanted. That usually meant that he ended up doing a few extra chores around the house, and he wanted to avoid that.

Although he grabbed his sword and dagger on his way out, Correm didn't bother with his armor. He was just wearing his leather vest, and the fresh pair of pants that Bethany had insisted he purchase. He'd not wanted to spend any of their expedition money on it, but he couldn't deny that it was rather necessary.

When he arrived at Anders's clinic, Correm stood for a moment underneath that lantern that had guided him and his friends here in the first place. He looked up into it, some thought niggling at the back of his mind, defying comprehension. Was there even a chance that the healer would really come with them on their mission, considering his obvious dislike of the Deep Roads? There was only one way to find out.

He peered around the doorway. Anders was alone this time, puttering around his shelves. It wasn't clear if he was looking for something, or making a futile effort to neaten up. The warrior watched him for a few moments, trying to think of a way to word an apology that his mother and sister would approve of. Maker forbid he should bugger up again and they'd hear about it.

Well, there was nothing for it. Correm took that last step to enter the clinic fully. “Look,” he said without preamble. “I'm not good at these apology things, but I have it on rather good and rather insistent authority that I was a complete ass this morning, and I should make the effort. Will you come with us to the Deep Roads?” Oh, they'll definitely approve of that rubbish, surely, he thought to himself sardonically.

Anders jumped and whirled, startled. “Oh, Hawke! What...” His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Correm took a deep breath and crossed the breadth of the clinic to stop in front of the healer. “I was a drunken ass this morning. You won't hold it against me, will you? You'll forgive me, won't you? Because my sister will kill me if you don't.”

“Well,” Anders said slowly, “in the face of such a compelling argument, I can hardly say no, can I?”

Correm grinned. “Wonderful. So, will you come with us on our mission of daring-do into the Deep Roads?”

Anders raised an eyebrow at him. He put a hand on his counter and leaned on it. “You have a one track mind, don't you.”

“Occasionally,” Correm shrugged. “It's one of my more charming qualities. And when I'm lacking in charm, Bostrix helps me out. Some women love him.”

“Bostrix?” Anders asked. He waved a hand toward one of the cots, offering Correm a place to sit. It was relatively clean. At least, it looked like it was. Correm didn't know, and didn't actually care, either, although his mother might have something to say about it if he came home with odd stains on his new pants.

He went ahead and plopped himself down, and slouched over with his elbows on his knees. “My mabari,” he replied. “Charming fellow, when you get past the reek of dog. It was really awful on the ship from Gwaren.”

Anders smiled a bit. “I'm more of a cat person, to be honest. I had one, once. A gift from a friend.” He paused. “You remind me of her a little bit. She didn't take a whole lot seriously, either.”

“Well, I'm not giving you my dog, if that's what you're suggesting,” The warrior made a face, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth.

Chuckling softly, Anders took his own seat on the edge of a table nearby. “No, I don't want your dog. But I'd like to offer my own apology.” He frowned. “I just want... to explain myself a little. I didn't mean to sound selfish when I spoke of Justice earlier.”

Correm raised an eyebrow. “Selfish? What are you on about?” He reached out to grab a nearby jar of something greenish and highly viscous. He lifted the lid and peered inside, shaking it side to side gently. It seemed to be more fascinating to him than anything else at that moment. It smelled funny, too.

Anders rubbed at his cheek, the stubble making a scratching noise. “I didn't merge with him to make myself stronger. I didn't know what would happen, and I thought that it would be better for him. I just... didn't want him to haunt a rotting corpse like some demon.”

“So he got the short end of the stick,” he said. After giving the mage another once-over however, he added, “On second thought, he may have become an angry bastard, but seeing that handsome face in the mirror every morning must cheer him up at least a little bit.” He paused, looking contemplative. “If you have a mirror, that is. Do you have a mirror?”

“Do you think I need one?” Anders asked. Correm missed the curious look on his face.

“Hmm,” Correm rubbed the back of his fingers over his own personal collection of facial fuzz. “Even if I did, like you said, I'd be one to talk. I don't even know where Bethany hides her mirror. My uncle definitely doesn't have one.” He shuddered for effect. “He could use one though.”

Anders smiled at that, and reached out to take the jar from him. Probably before he could break it or ruin its contents, Correm thought.

“Really,” Anders said. “I wouldn't say that about you. You don't need a mirror. But I have to ask you... You're not bothered? That I'm...” Anders rubbed at his thigh nervously. “That I have a spirit inside me?”

Laughing, Correm shook his head. “Maker, no!”

“Even though you've seen what I can do? How dangerous I am?”

“Well, you're not dripping with pus and bulging out in strange places like most of those abomination things,” the warrior shrugged. “Unless you save that for the full moon. Warn me please, if you do. Do you want to come with us to the Deep Roads? A Warden would be handy if we run into any darkspawn. Unless you're bulging and dripping; that would just be awkward.”

Anders stared at him wide-eyed as he babbled on a bit more, then he cleared his throat and coughed into his fist. His cheeks were suddenly a bit pink. Was he mad? “Well, no guarantees...”

“What?” the warrior blinked.

“You know, Karl...” Grief shadowed the mage's features as he spoke the man's name. What had happened was obviously still fresh in his mind. He probably hadn't had time to properly process it. “Karl used to yammer on like that when he was drunk, back in the Ferelden Circle. When... we were young.”

“You knew him in Ferelden? You've certainly been around. Do the Templars really let you get pissed in the Circle?” Correm wondered if he really was still coming across as drunk. He thought a minute, and realized that Anders had said something about knowing Karl from Ferelden. Something must be distracting him lately.

Anders smirked. “No. We'd have a servant boy smuggle it in for us.” He sighed wistfully. “We paid him in healing salves for his sick grandmother, but sometimes he'd do it for a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“Yes, it was always worth it. He was rather cute. Except, one day... Karl and I were too drunk during one of our trysts in the root closet. We were careless, and we were found out. They sacked the poor boy,” Anders lamented with a heavy sigh. “I don't know what became—”

“Wait,” Correm interrupted. He'd been only half-listening again, but he caught the word “tryst” and “root closet”. He'd had a village girl in a root cellar once. She'd found some rather... creative ways to express herself in there. Sitting up straight he asked, “You... and Karl?”

Anders turned his head a little to the side. “You know, I have always wondered, what is wrong with loving someone for who they are as a whole person, rather than just a body? Why would you shy away from loving someone just because they're like you? Karl and I, though... we hadn't been together for a long time.” He looked up at Correm again. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he licked his lips nervously. “Does that bother you? That I've... been with men?”

“Ah, well... no.” Correm looked at him—really looked at him this time—and tried to picture the two men together, younger. Much younger. “I just had... never considered...”

Anders suddenly switched from melancholy to flirtatious. “Well, perhaps I'll give you time to consider, then,” he said with a little smirk. “In as much detail as you fancy.” Correm marveled at the transition.

“Oh.” Correm had a bemused look on his face. How had that come up? he wondered. Then his imagination took a leap forward. He could think of some details that he'd fancy. He began thinking of the girl in the root cellar. Where had she been from again? The things she'd taught him, well, he hadn't exactly thought about them out of context. Now he was.

“I guess now's not the time or place. Not after Karl,” Anders was saying. “It's hard to believe that he's dead. And... at my hand. It's left an empty feeling inside of me.”

Correm wasn't paying attention anymore, though. His mind was taking him to some interesting places, both from his memory and from his new speculations. He didn't notice Anders' tone of voice growing upset at first.

Anders stood up and began to pace. “We mages, we aren't even people to the bloody Templars. They don't care that Karl was somebody's son, somebody's lover,” he was saying, “They'll hunt you down like animals, tearing you away from your family, from anything good in your life.”

Finally Correm did notice. The healer's voice had begun to change pitch, and to fragment into what sounded like two voices in one. His eyes began to shine from within, blue cracks appearing in his skin and ominous wisps of black smoke puffing out from somewhere. It was the same look that he'd had when he had exploded into that terrifyingly powerful being in the Chantry the night before.

Correm wondered what it felt like to be in that state. Even though it seemed to bother Anders a lot, he thought that it must at least in some part feel like an incredible rush. Would it feel like like the kind of reaction that lyrium caused? Back home in Lothering, when he'd been a few years younger, he had sneaked into the Templars' barracks with a tiny vial and stolen a small amount of lyrium from a larger supply. He'd quickly gone back home and drank it behind the barn. It had certainly been a rush, but, unfortunately for him, his father had caught him at it. Apparently there were some obvious physical signs that occurred before tolerance was built up.

It was the only time that the man had given him a real beating. Correm had not repeated the experiment.

Correm brought himself back to the moment and pointed. “Ah, you're starting to glow again,” he commented.

“Right... sorry.” Anders took a deep breath. He looked both flustered and ashamed at the same time. “I... Since yours is the only head here, and I don't want to rip it off, I think I should stop. Yes.” He frowned. “Sorry.”

Correm grinned, getting up off the cot and brushing grime off his backside. “No argument here! I'm all for cheery banter instead of angry ranting.” Why did he suddenly feel like vacating the premises? “But I think my sister might send my dog after me, if I don't get home again soon.”

“Well, no wonder,” Anders said, looking off to the side. Was he avoiding Correm's eyes?

“Good luck with your pregnant women,” the warrior said with a casual salute.

Before he could leave completely, Anders called out, “To answer your earlier question, yes, I'll go with you into the Deep Roads. And I'll be here, if you need me for... anything else. It's the least I can do, to thank you for your help.”

“Oh, you can count on me bothering you again” Correm nodded. He massaged his temples. “My sister won't be willing to magic away my hangovers all the time.”


	5. Unfinished Business

The Hanged Man was its usual filthy, noisy self. Correm, Bethany, Aveline and Varric were seated around the table in Varric's suite. A round of drinks was laid out, and Correm was currently in the lead as far as quantity consumed went. He stood and lifted his tankard into the air.

“Here's to Aveline!” he exclaimed with a grin. “For giving that bastard Jeven the what-for and for being the prettiest future guard captain that Kirkwall has ever seen. Probably. We've only been here a year. I suppose it's too early to say.”

Aveline smirked and shook her head. “Really, Hawke, is that all you can think of? That's certainly not what's important. Jeven was a corrupt son of a bitch. He had to be removed from his post. I wasn't _expecting_ for them to give me the position.” She gave him a stern look. “I hardly think they chose me to replace him for my looks.”

“But they _could_ have.” Correm winked at her. “You do have the cutest freckles I've ever seen.”

“One more word, and I'll put you on your ass,” she threatened.

“Would you care to try?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, Aveline ignored the challenge and took a drink from her mug.

Bethany had taken a few sips of the ale in front of her, but she wasn't interested in drinking the way her brother was. Hopefully he wouldn't go too far. Again. She wouldn't even be there, except for the fact that it was a celebratory event for Aveline and her impending advancement. She had worked so hard for it; she deserved the recognition. To have gotten as far as she had, being a Fereldan refugee _and_ a woman, was both a testament to her skill, and to her devotion.

It was something that Bethany envied. She had no purpose or drive, except to avoid the templars and do her best to stay out of the Gallows. That was the most she could do now. Of course she would follow her brother along while he did those odd jobs around Kirkwall—after all, the expedition they needed to raise money for was in great part for _her_ sake—but she'd still be afraid of attracting too much attention. There were templars _everywhere_.

She envied Aveline's freedom to pursue her dreams. The longer they stayed in Kirkwall, the more Bethany realized that she would not be able to live a very rewarding life. Even if they earned money and status enough to avoid the templars.

So, she envied Aveline.

“This is wonderful, Aveline,” she said, smiling over at the older woman. “I'm glad to see not all of us Fereldans are getting treated like dirt.”

“I'm one of the lucky ones,” the red-head commented. “There are still far too many of us in those refugee camps, living in filth and crawling around Darktown.” She shook her head. “It doesn't help that a lot of them become criminals just so they can get by. No one is ever going to want to hire them legitimately.”

“Well, when someone's willing to stoop to any level, there's always someone willing to pay them to do it,” Varric added.

“That is unfortunately true,” Aveline agreed.

“So, does the great Guard Captain Aveline have any grand plans for the future?” Varric winked and took a drink. He had Bianca with him, as always, and pointed a thumb at the crossbow over his shoulder. “Bianca is quite curious. Plenty of opportunities for an up and coming city official.”

“I'm not a city official, Varric,” Aveline countered. “I'll be in charge of a few good men, and the Guard protects the city. That's all.”

“Nonsense!” the dwarf exclaimed. “You'll have plenty of influence!”

“Unlike you, I have professional integrity. I would never stoop to take advantage of my position like that. Not for the petty reasons I know are on _your_ mind.”

“I take offense to that. Who says I don't have professional integrity? You don't have to take _advantage_ , per se. Like I said, simple opportunities to influence—”

“ _No._ ”

Correm laughed. “I think you'd better give up on this one, my good fellow. Aveline has much too noble a spirit to be swayed to your devious ways. I, however...”

“Correm, that's _not_ helping. I can defend myself.”

“You're a better man than I am, then.” The warrior grinned. Too widely.

“Hey!” Bethany frowned. “That's not very nice.”

Aveline smiled at her. “Don't worry. He's ignorable.”

Putting a hand over his heart, Correm made a gasp and rocked back on his heels. “I am? Oh, my life as I knew it is over! How will I ever go on without the attention you lavish upon me?”

“Sit _down_ , would you?” Aveline demanded. Bethany hoped that their friend wasn't _really_ getting angry.

He obeyed immediately. Clasping both hands around his tankard, he hunched over it and began to sulk. “You ruin all my fun.”

“I could still put you on your ass, you know, if that's what you want.”

“No ma'am.”

Varric clapped him on the back and raised his drink high. “To Hawke! Who gets put in his place more than any other man I know!”

The man in question merely grumbled into his drink.

Bethany was just _dying_ to ask Aveline something, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. She bit her lip. It was only a year from the death of the woman's husband. Well, it was only a year after Carver's death as well, but...

“Aveline?” she started hesitantly.

Aveline turned to her and raised her eyebrows. “Yes? You're not going to try and get something out of me, too, are you? I am already doing everything I can to keep you from the templars' notice, but—”

“Oh, no!” Bethany waved her hands, mortified that her friend should immediately make that assumption. It was all her brother's fault that Aveline immediately thought something like that, she would swear to it. “I just wanted to ask you... What are the men like? In the Guard?”

“Oh, yes, do tell!” Correm perked up, looking like a puppy about to receive a juicy treat.

Bethany gave him an imploring look as she blushed. “Brother, please.” She didn't need him ruining it when she was already embarrassed to be asking in the first place.

Aveline gave Correm an irritated look, to which he responded with a guileless smile. It wasn't a very convincing one. She rolled her eyes. “Are you asking seriously?” she asked Bethany.

Bethany nodded.

“They're most of them good men,” she replied. “There are bad apples in any group, but I know who they are, and I can keep an eye on them. Just in case.”

“Are there any of them in particular who are better than the others?”

“Well, there's...” Aveline trailed off and looked around. Correm, and Varric as well, were paying a little too much attention to what she was saying. “Wait a minute. You're _fishing_.”

“No, I... I swear I'm not!” Bethany blushed harder, wishing that this were going better than it was.

“Or are you asking for yourself?” Varric asked. “Sunshine, are you thinking about romance?” He grinned.

Bethany couldn't respond. She merely hid her face in her mug and pretended to drink from it. She regretted bringing the subject up, now. At least in front of the men. But she didn't always get to see Aveline alone. Still, she didn't _really_ think she could even remotely “find a man”, as her mother had been mentioning lately, in the Guard.

“No one is good enough for my little sister. They'll have to go through _me._ ” Correm pounded his fist on his chest.

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Aveline smirked.

“Besides,” Bethany murmured. “Who would want an apostate?”

“Another apostate?” Varric suggested.

“I suppose that Anders fellow isn't so bad, if you can ignore his 'special friend',” Correm speculated. Bethany thought that there were better ways of saying that Anders was halfway to being an abomination.

“That's one way to put it,” Aveline commented, echoing her thoughts.

“All right, 'abomination', then. But you have to admit, he looks pretty damn good for an abomination.”

Varric and Aveline laughed, although a bit awkwardly. Bethany couldn't bring herself to even manage that much. She was still remembering what had happened to Karl. Was Anders still suffering from that? She imagined that he would be. That was not the sort of thing that you got over quickly.

There was always so much death in the world.

“I'm just... Is it so wrong to want to think about the future?” she asked softly. “Sometimes I just don't feel like I've got one here. Especially with all the templars everywhere. The Blight is over. All we're really here for is Mother.”

Aveline shook her head. “No, it's not wrong to think of that. That's just life.”

Bethany gave her a grateful smile.

Correm, for his part, had never put much thought into such things. He lived too much in the moment for that. The future, aside from the immediate one—such as when his next meal was going to come, or which warm pair of breasts he'd next be squishing—never concerned him much. While growing up, he had certainly heard his sister talking with their mother about love and marriage and family, but he'd never really processed it. Especially since, as she'd gotten older, and the truths about her future as an apostate began to weigh more heavily on her, Bethany had quit talking about it.

Once upon a time Correm might have considered having a family of his own, but he really had no concept of romance or of parenthood. If he ever became a father, it would be purely on accident, and he would have absolutely no clue what to do about it.

Fatherhood was always a rather terrifying thought for him, when it occurred to him at all. He didn't want to subject himself to being a father. For that matter, he didn't want to subject any child to _having_ him as a father.

“Speaking of the future,” Varric began, turning to face Aveline once more. “If you aren't going to use your influence to better _yourself_ , I have a few propositions, if you will, that I think you could help _me_ with. Purely as an altruistic gesture, of course.”

“I really can't believe you sometimes, Varric.” Aveline shook her head.

Correm grinned, thinking that he knew what it was that the dwarf might be after. “You want to own _this_ place, don't you?” He gestured around them. “I think that's a _magnificent_ idea.” He really didn't think that it would actually happen, but it was fun to speculate about.

Aveline rubbed at her temples. “No.”

Snapping his fingers, Correm smirked and leaned over the table. “Or—and this is an even better idea, Varric—you could go for ownership of the Rose.” He wiggled his eyebrows. He'd never visited the place for his own benefit, and he certainly felt no need to, but it was another amusing thought.

Obviously not finding that plan as amusing as Correm did, Varric gave him a skeptical look. “Hawke, what in the _world_ would I do with ownership of that place?”

Aveline raised an eyebrow. “Yes. This I have to hear.”

“Oh, I don't know, you could make some changes to the bar, maybe start selling coffee along with the booze?” He rubbed at his chin, thinking. “You could stock some of those fancy iced desserts from Orlais, perhaps? Or! Perhaps you could train the prostitutes to knit scarves! There is a distinct lack of decent scarf-knitters in this city. I don't know about any of you, but I'd like one blighted scarf that isn't going to itch.”

His friends stared at him silently for a few moments, and he wondered if perhaps that had not gone a little too far over the top. Clearing his throat, he rubbed at the side of his neck. “Well. It was just a thought.”

Aveline shook her head and sighed. “For the life of me, Correm, I _really_ don't know why I follow you around so much. Even if I do feel obligated to help you on all your errands.”

Correm smiled, thankful that he hadn't sent her into a conniption with his ridiculous ideas. “I'm just that handsome. I have a sort of aura.” Before she could say anything, he quickly said, “And _no_ , it's not my _smell_.”

Chuckling, Varric snapped his fingers. “I was just going to say that.”

“Good thing I caught it in time, then.” Correm turned to his sister. She didn't look like she was drinking any more of her ale. In fact, he didn't think she'd been drinking much of it at all. “Bethany, do you mind?” He reached out to grab her mug and pull it to him.

“Ah-!” Bethany blinked and looked up at him. She shook her head. “No.”

“You _really_ need something to do that's going to keep you out of trouble,” Aveline said, watching him. “Now that your obligations to Athenril are finally over. Which I'm quite relieved about, actually. I don't like that sort of business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I have plenty to do. In the morning, we're going to talk to that templar about the elf boy, and I'd _like_ to go up Sundermount to find some of the things that that fellow at the Gallows wants. That should keep me busy all day.”

“Don't forget that man in Hightown whose dog you agreed to help find,” Varric added.

Correm groaned and rubbed at his face. He had hoped, actually, that the others would forget about that, because he'd regretted offering to help find the dog the moment the words had left his lips. “Don't remind me. No, really, please, don't remind me. I bet that dog fell into the sewers chasing after a blowing leaf.”

“I know you're raising money for the expedition, but I also know _you_.” Aveline swished her mug around. “You'll still find a way to fill every remotely idle moment with trouble.”

Correm knocked back the rest of what had formerly been his sister's drink. There was more than he thought at first, and he choked a little. “Exactly!” he said, after clearing his airway. “That's the best part about having all debts paid. It means we're free to accrue more of them.”

At the very least, being finally _free_ was invigorating enough in itself. He was joking about debts and obligations, but he really didn't want to be indebted to anyone else ever again. He much preferred it when people owed _him_ favors or money. Although, no one ever had, and if they ever did, he really wouldn't know what to do about it if they decided they weren't going to pay him back. Doing favors simply for being nice wasn't exactly one of those things that he wanted to make a habit out of.

However, he was beginning to get the feeling that life in Kirkwall might be all about “favors”. It was all social politics, and he wasn't fond of that concept at all. It meant that he'd have to actually get _involved_. He'd spent his whole life _avoiding_ getting involved, not just because he simply didn't want to, but also because of the nature of his family.

He'd barely been free of obligation to Athenril and he'd already done somebody a “favor”. Granted, he had done it in exchange for the maps to the Deep Roads, but slaughtering a bunch of templars hadn't really been on his docket for the day when he'd gotten up that morning.

If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that, all things considered, he probably would have helped Anders anyway. The thought of Bethany being taken by the templars was so upsetting to him that he would sympathize with _anyone_ in that sort of situation.

But he wasn't honest with himself. He didn't think about it. Being drunk helped with that.

“But our debts are _not_ all paid,” Bethany said, drawing his attention back out of his thoughts. She was frowning at him, and the disapproval in her gaze was so clear that even _he_ , tipsy as he was, couldn't miss it.

“Oh, come on, what are you talking about? We can work for ourselves now, and if we wanted to we could refuse to do something if we don't want to do it.”

“Don't forget the amulet,” she said.

Correm raised an eyebrow. “What—“ Then it dawned on him. The _amulet_. That bloody thing that the Witch of the Wilds—what was her name?—had given them to transport to Kirkwall in exchange for transporting _them_ to Gwaren. She'd very likely saved all of their lives in the process. Not to mention, it had been quite the thrill to be so close to such an _interesting_ person.

His sister shifted uncomfortably in her seat and rubbed her cheek. “We've got to take the amulet to the Dalish up the mountain.”

“I'm not sure if that's such a good idea,” Aveline said.

“Aren't you all for paying off old debts?” Correm raised an eyebrow at her.

She sighed. “Well, yes, but there are other things to consider. She was _the_ Witch of the Wilds. I think you should count your blessings and be thankful that you got this far.”

Varric said, “Dragons are great in stories, Hawke, but I'm not sure that I'd want to come face-to-face with one.”

“We made a _promise_ , Brother.” Bethany frowned around at the table. “It's the right thing to do,” she said. “Besides that, though, there could be consequences if we don't do it. What if the Dalish know we're coming?”

“I find it highly unlikely that they do,” Aveline said.

Bethany flushed. “I don't know any Dalish, so I don't know. But it _is_ possible, isn't it?”

Correm sucked at the lip of his mug and considered for a moment. “Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but personally I'd rather get the matter over with and move on with my life. We're done with Athenril, now let's be done with the bloody amulet.” He cleared his throat and gave them a sheepish look. “If I can remember where I left it.”


End file.
